"Progress" redefined - as in, "why must 'forward' always be so uni-directional?"

NEWSFLASH: Dubya STILL claims we're "makin' progress" in Iraq! Or, in other words, his speechwriters have absolutely nothing else to say to counter the multitudes of facts smacking the Bushies in the face like junebugs astride a Harley cruising at top-speed on an open country highway. Regardless, this whole PR spin class from the Bushies allows me to look toward those things that instead might inspire. Namely, Maya. And my own childhood back in Wisconsin. Because, after all, both will have about as much impact as Dubya's latest speechifying on our country's security. Or the price of beets in Belarus, for that matter.

Maya's got molars coming in. So she's a total bitch. In the sense of "bitch" being a totally understandable, generally uncomfortable, utterly unpredictable, yet largely encrypted entity for whom a hug seems to break the code of discontent. If she were a TV show, she'd be something like "The Soup" on E! - well-produced and often focused on the trivial. But oh-so-watchable.

Then there's the whole "not-yet-walking-but-thanks-for-asking" aspect of her mobility. Her balance is better than mine. She spills over obstacles like Steve McQueen with a headful of meth. But she's still relying on "the cruiser crawl" thing whenever the gap between handholds is more than a few steps. We need an epiphany to transition her into a full Walker, California Ranger. Regardless, expect the updates herein as soon as it legitimately happens.

To flesh out the mention of my 'Sconi childhood - I got a call from a high school friend yesterday who lives in Neenah, WI (a Chicago compared to the Peoria of our shared youth, so to speak). Haven't spoken to him in what I'm reluctant to admit is honestly 15 years. But my 'rents still live where I grew up and have had contact with his family much more recently. We'd sent out Maya's birth announcements recently (only a year-ish late for those keeping score at home) and I'd included this friend (Donnie) in the bundling. So he called to catch up. And suddenly it was like it was the late 80s again. We were laughing about our shared anarchic small-town experiences. Not that it matters to anyone aside from me. Yet we graduated amidst a class of 40 and this was akin to finding a long-lost sibling. He's a teacher, cool dad, ex-college-football player and current coach. So if he's reading, I just want him to know...you hit like my one-legged sister. If she wasn't even trying.

Hope your own friendly taunts are equally productive today. Rock on.